


A Red Cross Knight Forever Kneeled

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 02:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10427115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: "'“I knew even then that you were more important than that. That the First Order needed you. So I decided that I would protect you. From yourself, if I had to.'”Ren is Hux's self-appointed knight in shining armour. Hux isn't so happy about that.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twistedsardonic (sfvamp)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfvamp/gifts).



> Written for twistedsardonic, as part of the Fandom Trumps Hate challenge. Thank you for your generous contribution to a great cause!
> 
> Title from Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "The Lady of Shalott."

Hux would never have invited him if he'd thought he was going to say yes. 

He assumed the Jedi, or the Sith, or whatever group of freaks to which Kylo Ren belonged, had pledged themselves to abstinence of all kinds. That—and the sudden realization it's a bit pathetic to go to a cantina by oneself—was why Major Hux impulsively asked Kylo Ren to come along on his day off. Now, he regrets his rashness. Deeply. 

“So.” Hux looks at the figure across the table. Music thumps around them and beings of several species dance, decently and indecently, in between the tables. Kylo Ren sits with his arms folded across his chest. He hasn't moved since they arrived. He didn't even order a drink, although Hux supposes that's not surprising, since he also hasn't removed his mask. “Know any good jokes?” 

“What?”

Hux sighs. “Why are you here?” A line of enthusiastic dancing beings snakes it way past. A hand reaches out to pull at Hux, landing on his arm. He shakes it off and its owner congas on without him. 

“You asked me to come,” Ren replies.

“And, what, your highly evolved sense of propriety demanded you accept the invitation?” 

No response. Hux isn't going to waste his rare recreation time. They are relatively young—well, Hux is twenty-six, Ren might be sixteen or sixty for all Hux knows—and in a place no one recognizes them. Hux is here to have fun, and fun will be had. 

“I'll see you around,” he says, and goes up to the bar. 

A man immediately catches Hux's eye. He's exactly Hux's type: tall and well-built, with tightly cropped dark hair. Multiple tattoos are splashed across his forearms and curl around his biceps, which are large enough that Hux doubts, on casual appraisal, that he could get both hands around them. The man's face is beaten up, scratched and scarred in many places. Hux doesn't care about that. He's not planning on posing for engagement holos with the man.

Hux lingers by the bar for a moment, until the man looks over at him. Then, Hux turns away. He smiles to himself, revelling in the flip in his stomach when his quarry unfolds his large body from the small bar stool and lumbers over. 

“What are you drinking?” The man's accent is foreign, but not so foreign Hux has to worry about him being something other than human.

Hux doesn't bother to turn around. “I doubt you could afford it.” 

That's what these sort of men like. Hux has learned that over many years and many encounters. The odd one wants a fawning sweetheart, air-headed and giggling. Those men are out of luck with Hux, but most desire him to be aloof, even cold. Maybe they like to imagine they're fucking royalty, or whichever rich man hires them to do his dirty work. Hux doesn't give a damn about the psychology of it, as long as he gets what he wants. He always does. 

The man chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Is that right?” 

In his neatly pressed, off-duty trousers, Hux can feel himself growing hard already. _It's been too long_ , he thinks. His throat is dry. He clears it casually and says, “Yes. What are you, some kind of...” He lets his eyes roam the man's body. It's impressive, to say the least, and barely contained by the man's tight black shirt and even tighter trousers. “Sanitation worker?”

The man laughs again. “You could call me that. In that I clean up other people's messes.” A mercenary, then. And wittier than most.

“I'll have a Coruscanti Night Screamer,” Hux declares, picking the most expensive and vilest drink on the menu. The man moves closer, crowding Hux. A large hand lands on Hux's back, right between his shoulder blades. 

“I don't know if you're from Coruscant.” The man's lips brush against the shell of Hux's ear. He smells like drink, and a little like blood. “But I can guarantee the rest.” 

Before Hux can summon an appropriately disdainful reply, the warmth of the man abruptly disappears from his side. There is a gasp, then a horrendous gagging noise. Hux whirls around.

The man hangs suspended in midair, his legs kicking wildly, his hands clawing at his throat. The entire cantina stops. The conga line freezes. The music dies. The bartenders pause mid-pour as every being in the place stares at the helplessly floating man. 

“Ren!” Hux screams. 

Kylo Ren approaches casually, one hand outstretched. He flexes his fingers, just a little. The man's eyes bulge like a Gungan's. 

“What are you doing?” Hux hisses, acutely aware that everyone is looking at them.

“Is this not why you asked me here?”

“What?” 

“Did you not bring me to protect you?” 

Is he being serious? Is this his idea of a “good joke” after all? “What the kriffing hell would make you think I can't protect myself?”

One of the man's friends springs to life and runs at Ren. Although the man is of considerable height and girth, he bounces off Ren as if he ran into a Durasteel wall. He sprawls on the ground, while a purple tinge begins to colour the mercenary's face. “Let him go,” Hux demands. 

Ren does not comply. “His thoughts towards you were extremely degrading.” 

“It's not...” Hux can't believe this. He lowers his voice, although it's obvious every creature in the place is listening. He will never be able to come back here, even if he wants to. He doesn't. _Perhaps_ , he thinks, _I can convince the General to raze the planet._ “It's not degrading, you imbecile. It's what I want.” 

Slowly, gradually, Ren lowers his hand. The man falls, sputtering, to the ground. His friend and another man grab him, slinging his arms over their shoulders, and drag him outside into the fresh air. 

With the show over, the cantina swings into life again. The music resumes and the conga line picks up where it left off. 

“I'm going back to the ship,” Hux says. It's pointless staying here any longer. He only came to pick up a man, and no man will even talk to him while he has this moronic bantha at his side. He walks away, leaving Ren standing in silence.

***

“I must say, Colonel Hux, your ship is absolutely amazing. I've never seen anything like it.” Empress Ursuna of the Seven Nebulae simpers at him. Her arm is threaded through Hux's, bringing her close enough for Hux to see every grain of the sparkling gold dust that decorates her forehead, cheeks and chin, and which glistens on her preternaturally long purple eyelashes. The group of planets she governs are on the edge of the Outer Rim, backwater shitholes—in local parlance—but her over the top makeup and extravagant beaded gown would be at home on Naboo.

They are less at home on the _Finalizer_. As Hux leads her entourage along the corridor, workers and Stormtroopers stop to look as discreetly as they can. In most cases, that's not very discreetly at all. The Empress doesn't seem to mind. She bats her eyelashes, waves like she's meeting long lost friends, and even blows a kiss here and there. _Stupid, ridiculous woman_ , Hux thinks, as he forces a weak smile onto his face. 

If he had his way, Empress Ursuna's people would have been obliterated, crushed beneath the sensible boot of the First Order long ago. But his commanding officer, General Kina, does things differently. She wants to broker a deal under which Ursuna's planets would become First Order territory, and their rich mineral deposits First Order property. That means sucking up to the Empress. For a twenty-nine year old colonel, Hux is extremely inept at sucking up. 

“What do you think, Barilla, darling?” Ursuna glances over her shoulder. Along with a coterie of foppish courtiers and impractical, over-embellished droids, Ursuna has brought her daughter, Princess Barilla, to the negotiations. 

Compared to her mother, Barilla is so plainly dressed, Hux initially assumed she was a slave, or at least some lower-echelon servant. Her shirt and pants are black. While the neckline of Ursuna's dress plunges so daringly, Hux is constantly on edge, anticipating a slip at any moment, Barilla's shirt is buttoned all the way to her throat. While her mother's astonishing hairstyle, dyed every colour on the known spectrum and then some, looks like it is held up by wishful thinking and at least three-quarters of the hairpins in the galaxy, Barilla's brown hair sits in a neat, unassuming bun on the top of her head. If not for the small silver flowers embroidered on her translucent sleeves, Barilla could almost have been mistaken for a member of the First Order.

Hux likes her. Relatively speaking. 

“It's nice,” Barilla says. 

“Nice!” Ursuna laughs. It sounds like a braying happabore. “Darling, I think we can do a bit better than 'nice', can't we? We'll hurt the poor colonel's feelings.”

“It's fine, really,” Hux says. He is ignored. 

“No, Barilla, darling, I think what you mean to say is that it's stupendous. Laudable. Meritorious. Exquisite.” 

“Yes,” Barilla said. “All right, Mother. Colonel Hux, your ship is meritorious.” When her mother turns away, nodding in satisfaction, Barilla rolls her eyes. Hux smiles, genuinely this time. 

When Hux and the guests arrive back at the conference room, General Kina is waiting. “Your Imperial Highness. I do hope you enjoyed your tour of the ship.” 

“It was wonderful, thank you. Colonel Hux is an excellent guide.” 

“I'm so pleased to hear it.” 

_Hopefully pleased enough to count it towards my promotion_ , Hux thinks. _After this, I kriffing deserve one._ “If you're ready to begin the talks now...” Kina looks meaningfully toward the door. 

“Yes, of course. I wonder,” Ursuna leans forward, as if she and Kina are the best of friends. Kina steps back a little. Hux assumes this is because of the cloud of powerful perfume that envelops the Empress like a fog. It's so thick, he's surprised he can't actually see it. “I wonder if the colonel might be available to keep my daughter entertained while you and I chat? Darling Barilla has no head for such things, I'm afraid, and your colonel is such a generous host. ”

This is too much. “General Kina,” Hux breaks in. “I believe I'm meant to be participating in the negotiations.” 

“That will be fine,” Kina says, as if he hadn't spoken. “Colonel Hux, you'll stay with Princess Barilla. If you wouldn't mind, Your Imperial Highness...” Kina holds out an arm. Ursuna blows a kiss in their direction—Hux doesn't know whether it's intended for Barilla or for him—and leads her entourage into the conference room. 

“I'm sorry,” Barilla says, once the doors slide shut. “She's humiliating. If I could run away, I would.” 

“It's all right.” If there is one thing Hux understands, it's wanting to escape your family. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Always,” Barilla replies. _Perhaps_ , Hux thinks, _this won't be all bad._

The upper level observation lounge is one of Hux's favourite places onboard ship. The large windows gave unparalleled views of the stars, and strangely, it's very rarely occupied. When Hux and Barilla arrive, the room is empty. They sit on the stiff, unyielding sofa—this is still the First Order, after all—emerald wine in hand, and look outward. 

“Are you an only child?” Barilla asks, as she sips from her glass. “Sorry if that's too personal a question.” 

It is, but strangely, Hux doesn't mind answering. “Yes. I am.” 

“You're lucky. I've got five sisters and three brothers. And none of us are allowed to leave home until we get married.” 

“How terrible.” It comes out more sarcastically than Hux intends. That does sound awful. If there's one thing that can be said for his father and stepmother, it was that they didn't keep Hux at home any longer than they legally had to. 

“It is.” Barilla sighs. “I share a bedroom with two of my sisters. We live in a palace, but I can't even have my own bedroom. It's because most of the rooms are filled with Mother's clothes.” She looks at him. “You must think I'm joking.” 

“Not at all. I've met your mother.” 

Barilla laughs. It pleases Hux, strangely. 

“She's right about one thing, though." Barilla looks up, her large brown eyes meeing Hux's. “You are a good host.” 

Hux doesn't have much experience with women. He never thought of himself as particularly inclined that way, but these things aren't necessarily written in stone, and Barilla is quite pretty. More importantly, for Hux, she seems practical, level-headed. Sensible. 

Before he knows what he's doing, Hux inches forward, closer to Barilla. She leans in. Hux does the same, closing his eyes as he anticipates the novel feeling of soft, feminine lips against his own. 

“What are you doing here?” Barilla asks sharply, her crisp voice echoing in the large space. 

Hux's eyes fly open. They are no longer alone in the lounge. Rather, the grim, masked face of Kylo Ren stands before them, his hulking body positioned between the sofa and the window. Barilla glances at Hux, who frowns. 

“Ren,” he begins, and Ren punches the princess in the face. 

Hux is struck speechless. It's an exceptionally rare occurrence. He gibbers idiotically as Barilla slides, insensate, from the sofa onto the floor, a trickle of blood running from her nose. “Is she dead?” Hux asks, finally regaining the ability to talk. 

“No.” Ren pauses. “Do you want me to kill her?” 

Hux's split-second of relief segues easily into rage. “Are you insane? I'm sending you to the brig.” He reaches for the comm to call for help. The prison cell might not hold Ren, but perhaps a scuffle with the Stormtroopers would give Hux enough time to alert General Kina, who can call upon the mysterious commander to whom Ren seems to answer. Hux has never met this person, but they must be powerful indeed. He can't imagine they support random attacks like this. 

“What?” Ren has the nerve to sound confused. 

“Not even you can go around hitting innocent people.” 

“She's not innocent. She was going to use you. She wanted to marry you so she could move away from her mother.” 

Hux shakes his head. Trust this idiot to make such a mistake with regard to human interaction. _He's probably never even kissed another person_ , Hux thinks, sneering. _No doubt he's far too hideous for that._ “Nobody gets married just for that.” 

“She has a...a lover.” Ren hesitates, as if the word is foreign to him. _Just as I expected._ “That her mother hates. She thinks if she had her own place, they could finally be together. Marrying you would let her do that.” 

“I wasn't planning on proposing today! Anyway, plenty of couples have arrangements.” Hux's own father and stepmother, for example, at least in the later years of their marriage. 

“The lover's a Wookie.” 

“You got all this from reading her mind?” 

“No. Her maid told me.” 

“You actually spoke to someone? And they survived it?” 

Ren crosses his arms. “That's it? Not even a 'thank you'?” 

“Thank you for what? All you've caused me is trouble. Now I have to wait for her to wake up and convince her she somehow slipped off the sofa.” It could still jeopardize the negotiations, and that wouldn't help Hux's career at all. 

“That's the last time I do anything nice for you.” 

Hux laughes, although none of this is remotely funny. “Is that a promise, Lord Ren?” 

It's not. 

*** 

The man is as limp as a boiled marsh root, his neck snapped in two. A minor member of Kanjiklub, his loss will not make the galaxy weep, but any death in custody means paperwork, and Hux has more than enough of that already. 

“What happened?” 

The Stormtrooper beside him shifts in place. “We've reviewed the security footage, sir.” 

“And?” Hux isn't going to spend all day on this. He isn't going to spend more than five minutes, and even that's too long. 

“Perhaps you should see it for yourself, sir,” another Stormtrooper suggests. 

The holovid begins with the Stormtroopers shoving the Kanjiklubber into the cell. He was picked up trying to sneak a dilapidated old ship into the _Finalizer_ 's hangar. He was alone, or so every sweep of the ship has shown, and probably high on illegal spice. Or maybe he was just crazy. Nobody, not even the fools of Kanjiklub, would try such an imbecilic attack otherwise. 

Hux fast-forwards through the next three hours of footage, stopping only when the Stormtrooper says, “Ah, here, sir.” 

Pressing “play”, Hux immediately notices that, by this point, the Kanjiklubber has removed all of his clothing. _How delightful._ The man wasn't particularly old, but his skinny body is ravaged by scars and what look like the marks of disease. Hux is about to fast-forward again, when the Kanjiklubber puts his hand on his flaccid cock. 

“Look at this, you fuckers!” He calls, to no one in particular, it seems. “You like what you see? I bet your General fucking Hux would like it. Yeah, he'd suck this no problem. Get on his knees for me, wouldn't he? Fucking tight-ass cocksucker.” The Kanjiklubber rubs himself. His cock gives a tired twitch. “You bring him down here, I'll show him the time of his life. He won't walk for a week. I'll fuck that ass so hard, I'll have him moaning for it like a ten-credit whore. Bet he's used to that. How many of you fuckers have had him? All of you?” 

Hux isn't insulted. It's too ridiculous for that. But he does anticipate what will happen next. Sure enough, the holovid shows the door to the brig sliding open. As the Kanjiklubber continues to spew filth, Kylo Ren comes in and disables the force field in front of the cell. _He got there quickly. Was he right outside?_ Hux wonders. When he notices Ren, the Kanjiklubber stops talking, but only for a moment. 

“Fuck, you're a big motherfucker,” he says, perceptively. 

Ren holds up a hand. The Kanjiklubber drops his dick and falls to his knees. He grasps his head, his face contorted in agony. Hux can't say he doesn't enjoy seeing it. According to the timer on the holovid, Ren holds him there for a full three minutes. Then, with a casual flick of his hand, Ren sends the man rocketing into the air. He hits the ceiling, his neck breaking with a sickeningly audible snap. The Kanjiklubber falls to the ground in a heap. Wordlessly, Ren reinstates the force field— _why bother?_ Hux wonders, vaguely—and leaves. A moment later, a Stormtrooper comes in and finds the body. 

“Delete it,” Hux orders, when the holovid stops. “Delete everything. Then space the body and the ship he came in. This man was never in our custody. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” The Stormtroopers salute. 

As he heads back to his office, Hux can't help but smile a little. _My knight in shining armour_ , he thinks, pushing the button for the lift. _What a kriffing idiot._

*** 

In the entirety of the galaxy, there is one person Hux considers a friend. 

He and Cleland Jardine met at the Academy. They were both social outcasts, Jardine due to his less than athletic physique and Hux because of his father's position, but what began as a friendship of necessity eventually blossomed into the real thing. At least, it's as real as Hux has ever felt. He and Jardine studied together and trained together and hid from their classmates together, and when graduation day came, Hux felt real regret at having to separate himself from the other boy. 

Jardine is a colonel now, the second-in-command of the First Order vessel _Galactic Destiny_. When Hux gets word they're set to rendez-vous with the _Finalizer_ , he tries very hard not to show excitement. He waits, for example, until he gets into his private office before allowing himself to smile and celebrate by having an extra biscuit with his tea. 

Restraint is more difficult when Jardine's shuttle arrives in the hangar. Still, Hux has an image to maintain, and his image does not involve throwing his arms around his best friend like they're a couple of giggling schoolchildren. He holds his resolve, returning Jardine's smart salute as he steps out of his shuttle and casting a look down the colonel's body. “Looks like you've put on even more weight, Jardine,” Hux comments, lightly. “Is there nothing to do on the _Destiny_ but eat?” 

“I was thrilled to hear you'd made general, Hux,” Jardine replies. “Tell me, just how many officers did you blow to get there?” 

Hux can't control himself any longer. Ignoring the officers and the workers around him, he breaks protocol to a shocking degree and extends a hand. “Welcome aboard.” 

Jardine grins and shakes the offered hand. Clearly, he is out of control, as well. “Glad to see you again.” 

“So then,” Jardine says some time later, as they sit in Hux's quarters with a bottle of fine Corellian brandy. “I told her, 'Madam, I don't care how many hats you've got, security protocols allow only one set of guest quarters per visitor!'” 

Hux laughs. “Bloody Empress Ursuna.” He sips the brandy. “Whatever happened to that daughter of hers? Princess Barilla?” 

Jardine shrugs. “Eloped with a Wookiee or some damn thing. I don't recall the details. If you ask me, we should have wiped out the whole bloody lot of them years ago.” 

Hux murmurs his assent. Jardine shifts, his feet resting on Hux's low table. “This is a hell of a ship you've got, Hux.” There's naked admiration in his voice. 

“I know,” Hux replies, with pride. 

“Good crew?” 

“The finest.” 

“Loyal to you?” 

“I don't doubt it.” 

“Well, good for you. There's no one who deserves it more. Except maybe me.” 

Hux's comm trills. He reaches over. _Message from Kylo Ren._ Hux sighs and puts it back. Immediately, it sounds again. This time, he ignores it. 

“That your husband calling?” Jardine smirks, lifting his glass. 

“I don't want to talk about it.” The comm rings a third time. 

“Ex, then?” 

“He's nothing, really. Just a massive pain in my arse.” 

“Sounds like your sort of guy.” 

“He's the price you pay for an assignment like this.” Apparently. 

“My heart weeps for you. Meanwhile, I'm stuck on the kriffing _Destiny_ , tagging along after General Plavius like some little protocol droid.” 

The bitterness in his words isn't typical of Jardine. Hux remembers him as having an unfailingly positive attitude, despite everything, a counterpoint to Hux's usual irritability. He wonders if he ought to ask, if that's what a true best friend would do. Instead, he pours another drink for both of them. 

Hux more than half expects Ren to burst in at any moment, demanding to know why his comms are going unanswered. He doesn't. As the night grows late and Hux's bottle is drained, Jardine stretches and puts down his empty glass. 

“I'd better head back to my quarters. Some slave driver general scheduled a meeting for 0800.” 

“And he'll take note if you show up late.” He stands and leads the way to the door. He can hear Jardine behind him, pulling himself off the sofa. There's another noise, a rustling Hux can't immediately identify. Hux turns around, to mock Jardine for his slowness, then gasps, suddenly, as a slice of white hot pain courses through his side. 

Looking down, Hux sees blood leeching onto his shirt, but he can't fathom where it's coming from. 

“Jardine?” Hux looks up. A regulation-issue knife is in Jardine's hand, the blade stained red. 

“I'm sorry. I can't stay on the _Destiny_ forever.” 

“What do you...Did you...” Hux puts his hand on his side, over the spreading stain, then pulls it away. It's red and sticky. 

“There are people who don't like you, Hux. People in high places. They made me promises. I'm sorry.” Jardine raises the knife again. 

This time, Hux defends himself. Instinctively, he raises a hand, and Jardine slashes his forearm. Strangely, that shallow cut is more painful than the wound in his side. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Anger spikes in Hux, slow to arrive but powerful once it's there. He grabs for the weapon, but Jardine eludes him. “Do you really think you'll get away with this?” 

“Get away with it? I'll be rewarded.” Jardine sounds like he really believes that. 

“You always were a gullible bastard.” 

Jardine frowns. “Well, now I'm the gullible bastard with the knife.” 

“Not for long.” Hux tries to grab it again, but the sudden movement sends a wave of dizziness through him. He grits his teeth and leans against the back of the sofa. The comm is on the table, out of reach. If he tries to grab it, Hux reasons, Jardine might take the opportunity to attack again. 

Hux is calculating whether he should risk it, whether he should count on his ability to ward off Jardine long enough to press the emergency comm button that will bring Stormtroopers running in seconds, when his front door opens. 

“Opens” is, in fact, a bit of an understatement. The high-security Durasteel panel is wrenched aside as if it is a curtain of the lightest fabric, and Kylo Ren stomps in. Hux has never been so happy to see that mask. 

Ren easily plucks the knife from Jardine's hand, twisting Jardine's arm back as he does so. There's a crack and Jardine screams. Hux, taking great satisfaction in both these sounds, says, “Don't kill him.” Ren seemes poised to throw Jardine into the air, the way he did with the Kanjiklubber in the cells. “I want you to find out who put him up to this.” 

“You're injured.” Ren tosses Jardine aside. He hits the wall and slides down it, landing in a sobbing pile on the carpet. 

“Yes.” Hux blinks. “Didn't you...I mean, I thought you must have sensed it, or...” 

“Come with me.” Before Hux can protest, Ren lifts Hux into his arms, carrying him like a bride. The movement sends a renewed shock of agony through Hux. He grits his teeth against it. 

“Put me down. You need to call the medics.” 

“I'll take you there.” 

“It'll be faster to call them here. Anyway, I'm not having you carry me through the halls like this.” 

Ren pauses, but obeys. He lies Hux on the sofa, the gesture more gentle than any Hux would ever have expected him capable of, and grabs Hux's comm. Moments later, a medical team bursts into his quarters. As they bandage and bacta-patch and medicate, Hux can think of only one thing. “Ren,” he says, as a pleaseant warm wooziness threatens to overtake him. 

“I'm here.” Ren shoves a medic aside and appears in front of Hux. 

Hux blinks at him. His eyelids are heavy, and Hux can barely keep them open. “He was my best friend,” Hux confesses. More than that, Jardine was the only real friend he'd ever had. They weathered their turbulent adolescent years together. Hux was closer to him than anyone else, and Jardine turned on him. Is there no such thing as loyalty? 

“You should find a better one,” Ren replies. Hux considers this as he slides into blissful unconsciousness. 

*** 

When Hux invites him, he hopes Ren will say yes. 

There's no reason for him to say no, really, except that ever since the incident with Cleland Jardine, he seems to be keeping his distance. Which is fine. Hux has been busy, as well. The location for Starkiller has finally been chosen, and construction is set to begin any day. Hux's workload is heavier than ever, but he takes an evening off and asks Ren to come to his quarters. 

In all their years together, he still hasn't seen Ren eat or drink anything. Still, Hux has the protocol droid set out a couple of bottles of good liquor, along with a few bowls of Gamorrean crackers and frag snack chips. He wonders, briefly, whether he should wear his coat and hat, to keep a semblance of formality, but then decides they look silly in his own home, and removes them. 

Hux doesn't expect Ren to be particularly punctual, although he has no reason to expect he won't be. Right on time, the bell sounds, and Hux instructs the droid to open the door. 

For a moment—which lasts longer than Hux will ever admit—Hux has no idea who the man in his doorway could possibly be. He's tall, slightly taller than Hux himself, and his hair is long and thick. He's about Hux's own age, and his face, with its expressive dark eyes and large, but not unappealing, nose sends a shiver of visceral attraction through Hux. Then Hux's brain catches up with itself, and he banishes that feeling. 

“Lord Ren.” The door slides shut behind him. Hux wants to play it cool, to act like this is no strange occurrence, but it proves impossible. “I've never seen you without your mask.” 

“You've never invited me to your quarters.” 

“Yes. Well. That's true.” Hux steps forward and finds he doesn't quite know what to do with his hands. A salute would normally solve the problem, but in this case it would be asinine, and he can hardly shake Ren's hand. He settles for grabbing the nearest bowl. “Frag snack chip?” 

Ren takes a handful. The resultant crunching fills the room. Hux goes over to the bottles, taking the opportunity to subtly gawp while he fills two glasses. 

Hux would be lying if he said he'd never imagined what Ren might look like. He's imagined it often, but it somehow never occurred to him that Ren might actually be handsome. Not in a typical, holofilm star way, but handsome nonetheless. 

By the time Ren has finished the chips, Hux has regained enough composure to smoothly hand over a glass as he says, “I wanted to thank you for saving my life.” That is, after all, the point of this little soirée. “I haven't had the opportunity to properly express my gratitude.” 

Ren takes the drink. It's strong Coruscanti gin, but he knocks it back in one shot, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he's finished. Even Hux, who had something of a reputation at the Academy, can't help but be impressed. “It's my duty,” he says. Hux assumes he's referring to the life-saving, rather than the drinking. 

“Still, I wanted you to know I appreciate what you did for me. What you've always done for me.” And there it is. What Hux has never acknowledged, and what they've never spoken of. It's out there, now, and Hux has no choice but to forge ahead. “I realize the Supreme Leader may have ordered you to protect me, but I know that even before I was General...” 

“He didn't.” 

“I'm sorry?” 

“He didn't order me to protect you.” Ren sighs, heavily. He holds out his glass, which Hux takes as a request for more drink. He fills it up again, and again, Ren drains it easily. “I thought you were...requesting my company.” 

Hux blinks. “I'm sorry,” he repeats, “I don't...” 

Ren is slowly turning red, a side effect, no doubt, of the gin. “When we were younger,” he says, “and you asked me to go to that sleazy cantina with you. I thought you wanted to spend time with me. In a romantic capacity.” 

“You thought I was asking you out?” The idea is laughable. Hux doesn't laugh. 

“I know it was stupid. Don't worry, I got the picture when you started throwing yourself at that mercenary.” 

Hux stiffens. “I wouldn't say I was throwing myself...” 

“I knew even then that you were more important than that. That the First Order needed you. So I decided that I would protect you. From yourself, if I had to.” 

“I see.” Hux doesn't. He finishes his own drink. Too quickly, apparently, because he's immediately beset by a wave of dizziness. “I don't think anybody's ever said that about me before,” he admits. “That I was important, I mean.” His position is important, of course, but as a person? Hux is replaceable. He harbours no illusions about that. 

The room is suddenly warm. Hux is glad he didn't wear his coat. “I do appreciate it,” he repeats. It's important that Ren knows that. “So, thank you.” 

That should be it. That's what Hux asked Ren here to say, and now that it's said, he should be on his way. Strangely, Hux feels reluctant to show Ren the door. “Perhaps...” Hux begins, but he doesn't know how he's going to finish the sentence. He's saved by Ren, who cuts him off neatly by surging forward, pulling Hux into his arms, and kissing him. 

It's rough and clearly unpracticed. Hux pegged Ren for a virgin, he remembers, back when Ren was thwarting Princess Barilla's attempts to seduce him. Maybe he still is. Rather than feel amused by the thought, or offended by the kiss, Hux finds himself feeling generous. _He's helped me so much_ , Hux thinks. _Maybe I can lend him a hand in return._

When Ren pulls away, he's bright red and panting. His expression is one of shock, as if he can't believe he did it, but still, there's a spark of defiance in his eyes. Hux likes that. He appreciates that. “Lord Ren.” Hux catches Ren's gaze. If he looked away meekly, Hux might have forgotten the whole thing, but Ren holds it, fearlessly, and Hux puts his arms around Ren's broad shoulders. He pulls him in, until their lips are barely a breath apart. “Know any good jokes?” He says, and kisses him again. 

Later, Hux wakes up in his pitch-dark bedroom. At first, he assumes the breathing at his side is Millicent, but then he puts out a hand and feels the warm, solid musculature of Kylo Ren. _My lover_ , Hux thinks, his mind casting back to the many exciting, enjoyable and ultimately fulfilling experiences of just a few hours earlier. Ren wasn't as inexperienced as Hux thought, evidently. Or he is a very quick learner. _But more than that. He's my friend._ Ren has proven it, over and over, far more concretely than Cleland Jardine ever did. _And in this galaxy, that's better._ Pressing himself against Ren's back, Hux throws an arm over his chest, rests his head against Ren's shoulder, and goes back to sleep. 


End file.
